Chapters: 2/?
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Nero tol Scaeva & Warrior of Light, Emet-Selch & Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Characters: Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Nero tol Scaeva, Original Characters, Garlean Characters (Final Fantasy XIV), Emet-Selch (Final Fantasy XIV)
Additional Tags: Pre-Final Fantasy XIV 1.0, Espionage, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Garlemald Politics (Final Fantasy XIV), college fic technically, spy fic, not an au, Wol: Raelha Redorah, Fake Names, Magitek Academy
Series: Part 4 of A Knife in the Dark
Summary:
The loyal citizen had no reason to fear, the imperial news bulletins liked to declare. A little fear was expected of the non-citizen, loyal or not, but not too much. Too much fear was as good as a confession of guilt.
(Before she was the Warrior of Light, she was a spy).
Named Warrior of Light, Angst and Feels, Enemies and Lovers, Established Relationship, Explicit Sex, Blood and Violence, Hand Jobs, Scratching, Spit As Lube, Actual Lube, Sounding, Aether, Aetherical Sounding, Anal Sex, Mildly Dubious Consent, Light Aether Corruption, One Brings Darkness One Brings Light, Sexual Healing, Urethral Play, Wet & Messy, Wet Wet Wet!, Sex While Sick, Size Difference, Come Eating, Snark, Did I Mention Angst?
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Elidibus did not come even as that next windsday rolled around. He did not come the windsday after that, or the next.
Natus felt a fool, waiting around for someone who was sure not to come.
During the day, he kept busy. Sometimes even into the night. There was plenty to do on the First, plenty of people who needed his help. But when he returned to the Crystarium, his room in the Pendants felt emptier.
The person he was waiting for would never be one to knock on his door.
Of course, occasionally Ardbert was there. Or some of his companions visited. It… It simply was not the same.
Natus is away from the Crystarium for some time. Even when he must return to see the Exarch in the Ocular, he uses the aetheryte to teleport to other places where he found safety and comfort, places where he may rest.
Until today, that is.
Natus knew he was in a bad way if Y’shtola, of all people, suggested he take a rest.
Though even he had to admit he was feeling more than a little under the weather. The last lightwarden had done a number on him by tipping him over some sort of acceptable amount for his body at one time and suffusing him with enough light that the hero felt out of balance.
Through sheer stubbornness he had been able to shrug off his steadily worsening condition, working tirelessly as always, defeating countless sin eaters. Continuing on as a hero should was not always the easiest of tasks.
It was especially hard with how lethargic he was feeling, every step more leaden than the last. His wounds took longer to heal even with the benefits of healing magic.
Natus was bone tired, still suffering bruises all over, and on top of it all he was wracked with a fever.
When Y’shtola suggests he rest, instead of his usual bravado and heroic stubbornness, Natus gladly goes to lay down.
….
The room was dark and cool, what would normally be a balm to his tired eyes and overexerted body.
It was no comfort to Natus, who tossed and turned, burning with fever and suffering bone deep body aches that had him curling in on himself with pain.
Eventually he succumbs to exhaustion, sinking into the blessed, welcoming dark of oblivion.
…..
….
…
In the darkness of Natus' room, hours pass by, and moonlight soon slips in through the cracks of his window.
A familiar figure stands in shadow, still and quiet as the very darkness he used as a shroud.
Yet in his white robe and red mask, he shines brightest under the pale gleam of the silvery moon than aught else in the shadows of the hero's room within the pendants.
He makes not a sound, not even the click of his boots over the tile, as he moves further into the room. He casts no shadow as he crosses through the beam of moonlight that spills over Natus' bed.
His attention had been caught by a change in the furnishings. The large table he had sat upon last time had been removed from the room, in its usual spot a smaller, square one. The decorative purple and gold carpet had been replaced with something less ornate, simple. More befitting the hero who was not one for lavish displays.
His lip tugs ever so slightly upward.
The stools, too, had been replaced by chairs with backs.
Yet it is not any of the swapped out furniture that held his attention.
It is the large, gleaming instrument in the corner. It evokes a feeling of murky familiarity, a foggy sense of nostalgia for memories he had long since forgotten.
He only knows that it is something connected to the past, something connected to the person he once was.
This was no doubt the doing of Emet Selch’s influence upon this star, who had a long-standing habit of amusing himself by indulging in his own sentiment.
The mere sight of the instrument should not stir him so, not give rise to feelings that have no meaning without the memories attached to them.
Why did this instrument feel so different from all the rest?
The piano he had altered on a whim in that inn room back in Ishgard felt far away now. That moment of passion between enemies. It was but a blink to a being such as he who could live for an age; who had lived for a very long time by mortal standards, but time spent in the company of the man sleeping on the bed but a few fulms away had always felt different, from the very first time they had met.
Elidibus reaches out a hand to touch the grand piano, tracing the delicate patterns carved into the wood. He lifts the fallboard, unable to deny his impulse to test the keys.
He is careful, using the backs of his claws to press down on the ivory key so as not to scratch them.
A high note breaks the stillness of the air, then another, then a layering of sound. Several notes follow behind it, and Elidibus stares down at his hands as if they are not his as he finds the keys as if by heart. What was this music? How did he know it? Why did it tug and twist at his heart so?
…..
Natus stirs from his sleep, bleary and feverish, as the first notes of music vibrate through his horns.
“Emet Selch?” He rasps out, his eyelids too heavy to open his eyes.
The music comes to a stop, an abrupt halt of inelegant sound.
Natus winces, his head pounding.
“Sounded nice til that last bit,” he croaks out, wishing he had thought to pour himself some water before laying down. He felt like he could drink a whole barrel of water, he was so damned parched right now.
His visitor is strangely silent, lacking the usual bite of Emet Selch's snark. It was unusual. The man always had something to say, no matter if his opinion was wanted or not.
“Could you at least pour me some water from the pitcher on the table before you go?” He asks, ninety percent expecting to be mocked by his ascian companion.
He is met with more quiet, and suspects his nighttime visitor had left without a word, but after a few moments he does hear the sound of water being poured.
“Thanks,” he coughs, hardly able to get the word out.
The air shifts as he feels a presence come to hover over his bed.
With some effort, he peels his eyes open. Shocked at who he finds standing over him.
“I must be dreaming,” he mutters, the hazy image of his enemy and lover seems like what must surely be a fever dream. “Must've been thinking of you before I passed out.”
Yes, that must surely be it.
This was quite the vivid dream, if that were the case. The ticklish sensation of that long, pale hair on his bare, sweaty skin as Elidibus leans over him feels far too real. Like cool silk on his feverish skin. It makes Natus shiver.
“Maybe you're here to kill me,” he chokes around the lump in his throat, his mouth impossibly dry. Though it hurts to do so with his throat feeling like he'd gargled glass, he chuckles with dark humor. “With how I'm feeling right now, it'd be a mercy.”
It was a struggle to keep his eyes open with eyelids so heavy, but he worried that the vision of Elidibus will disappear, just like the real one did.
He had no such delusions that this version of Elidibus he had dreamed up would be kinder to him. That would be out of character.
Of course Natus had his fair share of outrageous, fantastical dreams. Consider the life he lived, the things he had been through were—as an old friend might say—the stuff of ballads.
Any dream with Elidibus in it always seemed to be wholly authentic, at least for the most part. Natus had ingrained the man so deeply in his own psyche that any such abnormalities in his dreams were enough to put the hero off, and often pull him right out of the realm of sleep.
He is not expecting Elidibus to press close with the water in hand, lifting his heavy head as he rests the glass against his lips.
Natus opens his mouth, swallowing the water as it trickles slowly over his tongue. He wants nothing more than to guzzle it down in greedy gulps, but barely raises his arm to take the glass when Elidibus swats his hand back down to the bed.
Mulish, he sucks harder at the rim of the glass. Wanting more.
Natus chokes as the water goes down the wrong way, turning his head to hack into his own shoulder and clear his lungs. His eyes water, tears dripping from the corner of his eyes.
“You never can pace yourself,” Elidibus remarks, speaking for the first time as he wipes at the corner of Natus' mouth with his clawed thumb.
“Where's the fun in that?” Natus asks, coughing a few more times.
Elidibus shakes his head and waits for him to calm down before offering the glass again, forcing the hero to pace himself by squeezing the back of his neck. Pulling his focus on the prick of those claws over the dark pattern of scales that trail down from his hairline. It sends a shiver down his spine like an electric spark of levin. His tail wriggles under the sheets, restless with the energizing effect of his lover's presence.
Natus doesn't choke again. He doesn't breathe. He is too aware of Elidibus' presence. The occasional prick of his claws on his sensitive skin had him holding his breath without being aware of it.
Air doesn't fill his burning lungs again until Elidibus pulls back to set the glass aside.
“Thanks,” Natus says, sucking in a breath.
It whooshes right out of him again as Elidibus rests his knee on the mattress and swings his leg up, straddling his hips and sending Natus flopping back into the mattress.
He feels suddenly heavy, weighed down. The brush of heavy aether over his own, scrutinizing the state he was in.
Natus bares his teeth in a grin, suddenly quite aware of how vulnerable he was in this moment. “Didn’t think this would turn out to be a sex dream,” he says, putting forth confidence and a fair bit of flirtation to cover up his now racing heart and the sudden cold sweat that washes over him. “Not that I'm complaining.”
He feels nervous at the cold smile that curls Elidibus’ lips, that red mask leering down at him seems all the more dangerous cast in ghoulish shadows by the light of the moon.
“Perhaps I mean to distract you,” Elidibus says softly, conversationally. Wiggling the soft, supple curve of his backside over Natus' lap. His robe bunches at his hips, riding up over his thighs. Flashing pale, smooth skin.
Natus’ belly does a flip, his hands grasping the sheets in a flood of heat as he realizes that Elidibus was not wearing trousers under the fall of his pristine white robe.
That sweet little bottom of his was completely bare, rubbing against Natus through the thin barrier of his sheet and the only thing that Natus was wearing underneath: a tiny scrap of cloth that could barely be classified as small clothes.
The rest of his adventuring attire had been strewn haphazardly across the floor, just moments before Natus had flopped face first into bed, exhausted.
His hypothesis about the ascian using magic to get dressed had already been proven. He had not thought it was just as seamless when disrobing. How out of it was he? Natus hadn't even felt the flare of his aether.
“Color me distracted,” Natus chokes out, squirming beneath his small lover as his cock fills with blood so swiftly that it makes him dizzy. Or dizzier, rather, because the room had been spinning since Elidibus pushed him down.
It was a strange cocktail of feelings to be at the same time nauseated by vertigo and so incredibly hard that he could feel the pulse of his heart in his cock. He was twitching like crazy under the weight of the ascian in his lap, already dampening the fabric of his smalls with pre cum.
Gods, he was so easy.
“You are too easy,” Elidibus remarks, an exact echo of his own thoughts.
His clawed gloves skim upwards from Natus' hips to the slenderer curve of his waist, squeezing firm as he ground himself down into the large, prominent bulge of Natus' cock.
Natus shivers at the razor edge of those claws, still on edge even as his hormones shifted into overdrive. His reasoning skills were not yet dampened.
His stomach twists up in knots with fearful anxiety even as his cock happily throbbed with lust and his balls grew heavy in agreement.
This was hot as the seven hells, no doubt about that, but it was also equally terrifying. There was no telling what Elidibus would do. When last they had parted, the Emissary had drawn a line by declaring them enemies. Had he changed his mind or was he just toying with Natus? Waiting until his guard was down to gut him, or strangle him, or…!
Natus lets out a strangled moan as Elidibus digs his claws into his side, the tingle of his aether brushing over him followed by a rush of a cold breeze. When he looks down, his cock is bobbing in the open air, the sheet that had been covering him and his small clothes just… gone. Vanished.
Did he not have a tell when using his powers? Natus knew Emet Selch had a flair for the dramatic, but was the snapping really that unnecessary. It seemed like Elidibus simply willed things to happen without needing to snap his fingers or make any other gestures to do so.
Natus’ hips jolt, a gasp tearing from his throat as Elidibus wraps his gloved hand around him.
The feverish hero grips the bedding beneath him, too tired and weak to do aught but squirm beneath his enemy as Elidibus drags his glove over him. From just under the tip down, down, down to the base.
He could feel the textured stitching of the glove where it stretched across his palm, yet the well worn leather was buttery and smooth as it slid over him.
Natus openly moans, his head tilting back with pleasure, but unable to tear his eyes away from that face, that red red mask, and the piercing aquamarine eyes that glowed behind it in the gloom of the darkness off his room.
And of course, that wicked clawed hand that moved over him.
That glove felt so good, so cool on the heat of his feverish skin—but he was so sensitive right now that the texture of the stitching would quickly chafe him without some sort of lubricant to slick the way.
The slightest graze of those golden claws felt ticklish, undeniably stimulating, but made Natus incredibly nervous for the damage that could potentially be done to his most sensitive parts with ease.
Natus exerts a good deal of his limited energy just doing his best to hold still, his whole body straining with the effort, sweat beading on his brow. Even the slightest twitch could spell misfortune for him.
Aught that seemed to amuse his lover, judging by the ghost of a smile that curves the corner of his mouth.
Natus swallows, knowing that smile never meant anything good for him.
As expected, Elidibus tortures him more with wicked relish. His hand moves faster, working him over without mercy.
Natus whimpers, fearing he may tear his bedding with how hard he was gripping the fitted sheet. It was shocking that he had yet to pull it off the bed entirely. That must be some high quality elastic to hold up against his heroic strength.
Had the Exarch truly thought of everything? Natus shook that thought right out of his head as soon as he thought it. No, he hoped the Exarch wasn't thinking such things. Or that he wasn't watching him through the Ocular, right this very moment. That had been particularly disconcerting to learn. That the Exarch could watch him from the privacy of the Ocular, wherever Natus was on the first.
There was Ardbert, too.
Natus could only be glad that his friendly spectre hadn't decided to pop in while Natus was sleeping. And hope that the ghostly hero wouldn't show up while Natus was in the midst of sleeping with the enemy.
Oh, gods, what about Emet Selch?
Natus squeezes his eyes shut, head shaking. Inwardly pleading with whatever gods that may be watching to not allow any such spying or peeping from any of the men he had become acquainted with on the First.
He could spare no more thoughts for the mysterious leader of the Crystarium, his ghostly roommate, or the ascian who claimed to be cooperating with himself and the Scions; because Elidibus gives him a too-firm squeeze, pulling his focus back into the moment by the Emissary's hold on his cock.
“Ah! Please,” Natus groans and begs.
His enemy strokes only him harder, obviously discontent that the xaela had allowed his thoughts to drift from their activities for even a moment.
“Pay attention,” Elidibus says softly, commanding with his voice alone. “Lest you desire I leave you here in this pitiful state.”
Natus lets out an undignified, fearful sound as the ascian cups his balls in his palm, ticking the delicate skin there with the razor pinprick of his claws as he rolls them in his fingers.
“Ok, ok,” Natus nods. What else could he do? Elidibus quite literally had him by the balls. “Whatever you say!”
Elidibus fondles him there a moment longer, perhaps in warning, before once again gripping the hero's cock in his gloved hand and returning to the task of torturing him by a slow, dry tugging.
“Nng,” Natus grinds his teeth. “Too dry.”
Elidibus gives a low scoff. “Is that so? It seems to me that you leaked a good bit just now,” he swipes his fingers over the crown of the xaela's cock where a thick line of precum had drooled from the tip.
“Is the threat of danger something that you find arousing?”
Natus has nothing to say for himself there, so he just gives a noncommittal grunt in his throat. Elidibus surely knew the answer to that by now, anyway.
Elidibus’ lip curves at the corner, a soft exhale through his nose. Natus could pretend for a moment that it was fond exasperation.
“Open your mouth,” Elidibus tells him, cupping his palm over the tip of Natus' cock and smearing wetness across the leather of his glove with flicks of his wrist.
Natus is a bit slow to react. Sparks shooting up his spine with pleasure would do that, as every flick of Elidibus’ wrist makes him feel like he would melt, or explode with pleasure.
It was strange. He had felt almost… numb to sensation before he had fallen asleep, but Elidibus' every touch made him feel incredibly alive.
Natus lets his jaw relax, parting his lips.
“Stick out your tongue.”
Natus stretches his tongue out, letting it rest there over his bottom lip. He opens his mouth wide as he breathes in and out, panting like a wild animal.
Normally, he might have teased Elidibus about wanting to see his tongue. About how much use he got out of it. About how it was surely one of his favorite appendages belonging to the xaela, but Natus barely had the energy to spare to think, let alone speak.
Though Elidibus' every touch made him tremble, made him react like a pleasurable spark of levin, Natus was too tired and out of his mind with fever to do much of anything but lay here and feel. To let Elidibus do whatever he wanted.
He was only fortunate that Elidibus wasn't feeling particularly murderous today, he supposed. That his enemy turned lover turned enemy—turned lover again?—was feeling generous, or perhaps some form of pity for the pathetic state that Natus was currently in.
“You always liked my tongue,” is all he can manage as far as cheeky flirtation, barely decipherable with his tongue hanging out. “Give us a kiss.”
Wow, inspired. Elidibus would surely swoon at his wit.
For his part, Elidibus does not swoon or come close enough to suck his tongue that was so willingly offered.
Instead the Emissary squeezes his cock head, scraping his sensitive flesh with his claws. Pleasure and pain melding together.
Natus gives a very manly squeak, taking it for the warning that it is and says no more on that train of thought.
Elidibus makes a quiet sound at that, but Natus chalks it up to feverish delusion, because when had been the last time he had heard Elidibus laugh? It had been a long time, not since the early days of their relationship. Before the end of Lahabrea.
“You wag it often enough,” Elidibus says, obviously speaking of his tongue as the ascian leans forward, his hand lifting from Natus' cock. “How am I expected to take it… except as an offering?”
Natus shivers as Elidibus rubs his fingertips over the softness of his tongue. Making him taste the heady salt of his own flavor as Elidibus slips the fingers that had just been curled around his cock into his mouth.
“Use your tongue,” Elidibus says in that calm, velvety voice of his. Pressing down with his fingers. “You enjoy this, do you not?”
Natus moans around the fingers in his mouth, his tongue squirming under the weight of them. His top teeth press uncomfortably into the connecting metal that curves over the tops of Elidibus’ glove, very aware of the cold metal of those claws that extended past his tongue into his throat.
Natus hadn't thought that one glass of water would be enough to wet his whistle, but he certainly had enough in him to drool all over the man's fingers. Apparently even a glass of water, if it were hand fed by Elidibus, was superior.
Natus breaths in quick little breaths through his open mouth, trying not to gag as Elidibus pushes his fingers deeper into his mouth. It was less about his pride as a well experienced man, and more about not slicing his throat open on those wicked sharp claws.
The hero extends his tongue out as far as it could go, lapping at the salty mess coating the palm of Elidibus’ glove.
“So obedient,” Elidibus murmurs.
Natus would bite him if he wasn't afraid that might result in getting his throat shredded.
“That is enough,” Elidibus declares. “Let go, unless you want to taste your own blood next.”
Nope. Natus did not care for the taste of his own blood, thank you very much.
Elidibus extracts his fingers, the brown leather of his glove well wet from the efforts of Natus' eager, drooling tongue.
Natus sighs with pleasure as that hand curls around his cock. The coat of his own saliva slick enough to grant him a few slippery, toe curling pumps of the ascian's fist.
Natus' back bows, a curse wrung from his lips. He feels on the edge already. A few tugs and one good squeeze away from spilling his load all over his enemy’s merciless claws.
“So soon?” Elidibus asks, squeezing him hard on the upstroke and curling his clawed fingers just under the tip.
He was making a mess of Elidibus' glove this time around. Leaking over his fingers, sticky droplets dripping from the tips of his claws.
“Your stamina is severely lacking,” the Emissary remarks with obvious disdain. The red of his mask was twisted up in contempt, matching well to the situation. “We are far from through.”
Natus gasps, his chin pressed to his chest as he peers down his body.
Elidibus had his cock in a stranglehold with one hand, and with the other he trailed his claws over his glans. Waiting until Natus was watching with undivided attention before swirling the claw of his forefinger around the mushroom head, narrowing in on the tiny slit that was still oozing precum like it was its one and only job.
“Ah, what—” Natus starts to say, before his words become lost in a strangled cry to the delicious agony of something slips inside of him, right at the tip of his cock.
His claw? No, it was Elidibus’ aether given shape.
Natus jerks, gasping and whimpering into the open air as it sinks into him slowly. It was straight like an arrow, cylindrical. Filling up all the empty space until he felt like it could go no further.
Yet he could still feel the creeping darkness of Elidibus’s aether as it spread through him like a dark fog, a black ink in crystal clear water.
It was heavy, consuming.
Was this how Elidibus would kill him? It was certainly fitting for an enemy turned lover turned enemy. Natus could hardly think, hardly breathe. All he could do was feel, writhe on the bed, helpless and at his lover's mercy.
Natus knew he should probably feel afraid, but the spread of the darkness felt refreshingly cool. It felt like the glass of water that Elidibus had held to his lips, soothing his aching throat.
As his enemy's aether poured into him, his body reacted as if he had taken a fast acting painkiller potion. But no potion had ever alleviated his ills quite so quick. It was better than drugs, better than the succor of healing magic. It seeped into his muscles, to his bones, to the very core of him.
It soothed the ache, cooling the overbearing heat of his fever.
“What… did you…?” Natus was nowhere near one hundred percent—it was extremely unlikely that he could simply hop from the bed or turn the tables on Elidibus, who still had the clear advantage on him—but he felt more like a person and less like a sickly pile of bruised flesh and aching bones.
“Consider this… mere curiosity,” is the vague answer Elidibus gives him.
Fair enough. Natus was well used to being subjected to Elidibus’ whims. They would not be here now, entangled so, if it were not for the Emissary approaching him on a whim; in want to satisfy his own curiosity.
Natus squirms as Elidibus plays with the shaped aether stopping up his cock, twisting it round and round inside of him like a toy to fidget with.
The xaela cries out as it is abruptly yanked from him, the intensity of the sensation forcing a small orgasm out of him. He leaks everywhere—dribbling over himself, over Elidibus’ hands that still played with him mercilessly, and staining the sheets beneath him as his whole body shook with the strain of holding himself taught.
Elidibus strokes him through it, his hand sloppy wet as it slides up and down his length, strands of sticky cum clinging to his claws as he teases torturously at the sensitive underside of his mushroom head.
Natus sobs with pleasure, strung out and overwhelmed. His skin felt so sensitive, as if it were freshly healed after a sunburn. Was this a side effect of the fever, or of Elidibus using his aether on him? Was it both?
Was it agony or bliss that his beloved nemesis was not allowing him mercy, not allowing him to relax or go soft. That dispassionate face matching him in silence behind that red red mask, as if he did not care that he was pushing Natus to the brink of madness.
“Is this much not enough?” Elidibus murmurs, lifting one sticky hand to dig his thumb into a blackish-purple bruise on Natus' hip.
The hero twitches with the sudden pain.
Elidibus cocks his head, humming.
“You can take more, yet.”
More what? Natus parts his lips to ask, but chokes on his own tongue as Elidibus’ aether surges into him once again, from the very same point of penetration. His poor, abused cock.
It felt like a beaded instrument this time around, popping into him one bead at a time. The first notch was long and oblong, the second was round, the third a teardrop shape.
Pop, pop, pop.
One after another do they sink in through the slit at the tip of his cock.
Another teardrop. A short, fat kernel that made Natus whine in his throat.
Then, quickly, five round beads in a row.
Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop!
Natus’ whole body jerked, a helpless cry tearing from his throat as he came hard from the unexpected onslaught.
There it was, Natus heard it again. A soft, barely audible laugh. He could not mistake it this time, so in tune was he to Elidibus' every word, every breath. The subtle sound vibrated through his horns.
It was all the warning he got.
Two more fat teardrops came after, and then two more round beads followed behind without pause.
Elidibus forces them in, all at once.
Natus' balls drew up to his body, his cock throbbing in the Emissary's grip. He felt like he would explode, yet nothing substantial came out. Only a few droplets that seeped from his tip, forced out through the built up pressure.
Gods, it was too much.
It was not enough.
Natus’ mouth hung open mindlessly, drool trickling out of the corner of his mouth as his eyes rolled back in overstimulation.
His cock pulsed, abused and flushed purple with desperate need.
“Please,” Natus whimpers, knowing that all he could do now was beg and hope his enemy felt a shred of pity for the pathetic state he was in.
“Cease your mewling. We have only just begun,” Elidibus says, shoving his ring and pinky fingers into Natus' mouth. The only part of his glove that didn't have a claw extending from the back of his hand over his fingertips.
“Now bite down, carefully,” He instructs him.
Natus bites down carefully on the brown leather of the Emissary's glove, tugging it off with his teeth.
Elidibus’ hand slips free from the glove, pale and delicate. Natus had been surprised their very first time to discover how small the white robed ascian was
compared to him underneath all his ascian finer, but the xaela was bigger than most people just on account of being Au Ra.
Natus stares as Elidibus lifts his bare hand up, a small orb of darkness forming in the air above his palm like a will-o'-the-wisp. With a small flicker of darkness, something drops from the wisp to land in the Emissary's waiting hand.
A bottle?
The cork pops free from the bottle, and Natus feels some annoyance as he realizes just what it was in watching Elidibus pour it into his cupped hand.
Lube.
He had him drooling on his fingers for a little bit of spit, when the whole time he could have waved his hand in the air and conjured some lube from the void or wherever it came from? This son of a…!
Natus hisses out in surprise at how cold it feels as that lube drizzles down on him, the bottle tipped to the side and glugging in the air as he is thoroughly coated in the stuff. Oddly enough, the bottle did not seem to empty even though it was so small.
Natus focus shifts as Elidibus rests his still gloved hand on his sternum, his long pale hair slipping forward over his shoulder to tickle at the hero's skin as he reaches behind him with his small, pale hand.
Natus about swallows his tongue, watching with eyes wide open as Elidibus slips those lube slick fingers inside of himself, preparing for what comes next.
Natus lifts his heavy hand, the backs of his knuckles barely brushing Elidibus' hair.
He wants to bury his fingers in it. To drag Elidibus down to kiss him. Roll him under him and do it all for him, like he usually did. He could hold Elidibus' hands in his and kiss his face until the Emissary turned his cheek. He could strip Elidibus down and lick him all over, suck him just how he liked. Fuck him just how he liked. Hold him in his arms however long he could until Elidibus left him again. Because Elidibus always left.
Elidibus moves before Natus can muster up an onze of strength to do any of that.
The Emissary sits up, straddling the hero's lap.
It happens so fast, Natus has no time to brace himself. Within one breath and the next, Elidibus has hold of him, spreading himself open with one hand while the other pressed Natus against him.
It takes some work for him to sink in, Elidibus holding his cock firm and wiggling down onto him. Bearing down to take the girthy behemoth between Natus' thighs. The xaela claimed to be average in that department, but to a smaller man of Elidibus’ size, it was no gridanian picnic.
They both moan as Elidibus sinks down on him, though Natus is far louder, almost drowning out his lover's quiet sound of pleasure.
Ahh, he felt amazing. So good, so hot. Squeezing him just right. Natus felt like he might melt from it. Or entirely burst.
Gods, Natus had missed this.
Missed him.
The hero’s hands clutch at his lover's white robe, wrinkling the immaculate fabric in his tightly clenched fists. He did not want to let go. He wanted to keep him here, to drown in his attention. No matter if that attention were good or bad, Natus would take it. He would bear it all so long as he could stay in Elidibus’ company.
Natus moans like he's in agony as Elidibus rests his hands on his chest and starts to move his hips.
Elidibus rides him slowly at first, torturously. The pulse of his aether swirls inside of Natus, spreading out from his core.
How strange he feels as the aether moves through him, thick and heady like black treacle, yet cool like refreshing water as it washes away the heavy feeling that was weighing down his insides.
From his groin, to his stomach, then his chest.
Natus wonders if it had the power to cleanse the heavy, bittersweet feeling that weighed on his heart.
He feels it in his throat, his head, tastes it on his tongue.
Did aether have a taste to those who were not voidsent or sineater? To Natus, it was distinctively strong and slightly bitter in taste. There was a slight sweetness, but it was more floral, herbaceous; earthy. With just a hint of mint.
It was like kissing Elidibus, tasting his mouth. Breathing him in and holding him in his lungs.
Natus tugs at Elidibus’ robe. Gathering it in his hands and doing his best to lift it. In his weakness, all the ornaments decorating it felt far heavier than usual.
“Want to see you. Take it off.”
Elidibus ignores his request, so Natus flips the front of the white fabric up over the Emissary's hips. Revealing more of his milky skin to Natus' hungry gaze.
The sight of that pretty prick, flushed so pink and leaking with arousal was enough to cheer Natus' heart.
Elidibus could act unaffected all he liked, but his cute little prick was always honest about his pleasure.
“Want to put my mouth on you,” Natus murmurs, watching Elidibus with desire on his face. “Suck you just how you like it. Don't care if you fuck my face, suffocate me with your cock. I can still feel you in my throat from last time.”
Elidibus’ pace falters for a moment, the pink blush to his skin taking on a deeper hue.
Natus smiles lazily. Still somewhat shaky as he lifts a hand towards his face and licks his palm. His effort is worth it as Elidibus' tilts his head back in a hiss when Natus wraps his hand around his pretty pink prick and jerks him off.
Elidibus pace increases, rocking back on Natus' cock and up into the hero's fist. The aether stopping up Natus' cock grows thicker inside of him, making the xaela whimper with the will it takes to keep on his task. Retaliation, for certain, but Natus was tired of laying back and doing nothing.
Natus matches the pace he had set, though increasing his speed was sure to drain his energy faster.
“Just like that,” he says, breathing hard as his pleasure builds up again to unbearable levels, and fast.
Elidibus gives a growling moan, like he was angry that Natus dared to make him feel good even after he had drawn a line between them.
Well, who's fault is that? Elidibus was the one who came back and climbed into his bed, straddled the hero's lap for another ride.
Natus was rather innocent, for once. He hadn't instigated it, or deliberately seduced Elidibus.
Natus hisses as Elidibus scratches a path from his pecs down to his abdomen. His bare hand with his blunt, well manicured nails didn't hurt anywhere near the damage dealt by the clawed glove he still wore on his other hand.
Natus was most definitely sporting three long scratches from those claws, and undoubtedly bleeding.
Natus grips Elidibus’ hip hard enough that he hopes it bruises, something for his ascian lover to remember him by as he resumes jerking him off so furiously that his wrist began to ache.
Something cold drizzles over his fast moving hand, and Natus glances up to see the return of the lube bottle. This time just floating in the air via wisp of darkness. Ascian magic sure was convenient.
He gives a grin, thankful for the added lubricant to ease the path of his hand. The air fills with the lewd sound of his hand on Elidibus' cock, the bed creaking beneath them as the Emissary rides him into the mattress.
Natus squeezes him tighter as his pleasure builds much to fast, his peak coming again.
“Wanna cum,” Natus whines a bit petulantly. “My cock hurts. My balls, too.”
“Mm… Move your hips more, and perhaps I will consider it,” Elidibus replies, his breathing labored. His voice trembling in that telltale way that spoke of his impending orgasm.
Natus groans. “Who climbed into who's sick bed?” He says so just to be a shite, but puts his back into rolling his hips more.
Gods, he didn't have much more left. His exhaustion was coming up on him fast.
“How's… this?” Natus asks, twisting his slick hand around Elidibus’ pretty pink prick, snapping his hips up along with his words.
Elidibus gasps, his clawed hand digging into the hand that Natus had on his waist. His back bows backwards as he rocks jerkily between Natus' hand on his cock and the throbbing girth of him inside of him.
“Yes…!” Elidibus moans breathlessly, and Natus is treated to the delight of the ascian cumming so hard that it stripes over his hand, his chest—and with some coaxing of Natus' still moving hand—over the xaela's grinning face.
Natus has no time to gloat or savor his victory, because no sooner did Elidibus find his peak did the aether plugging up his throbbing cock pull free.
All of those sensually shaped beads, yanked out of him all at once.
Needless to say, Natus cums his brains out.
He writhes on the bed, holding onto Elidibus for something to brace himself against as he cums, and cums, and cums.
He lets out so much built up spend that it fills his lover up and spills out of him, leaking down Natus' balls and over his thighs, staining the bedding beneath them.
Natus takes his chance, yanking the Emissary close with his remaining strength and kissing him.
Elidibus goes rigid in his arms, but his lips were so soft, so receptive to Natus' kiss. They parted so easily for his tongue as Natus kisses him desperately. Hungrily. His fingers twining in that long, pale hair and his hand cupping his lover's jaw. He was warm, still flushed with pleasure.
“Elidibus,” Natus murmurs. Sighing into their kiss and craving so much more. He trails his lips from his lover's mouth, kissing across his cheek, over his jaw. That mask perpetually in the way of his affection. “Elidibus.”
He finds himself shoved back, the ascian glowering down at him as he flops onto the bed, utterly spent.
“That's what I wanted,” Natus says, satisfied.
Elidibus looks so sexy when he is mad and full of Natus' cum. The hero only wished he was naked so he could savor the sight of him more. All that pale skin and those pretty pink nipples. Well, he still had his cock to gaze upon.
Remembering that, Natus lifts his messy hand to his face and licks the salty taste of Elidibus’ cum from his fingers. Gazing at the pretty sight that his lover and enemy made, all the while.
There would only be so long to savor it, as always.
“Running off again?” Natus asks, already feeling sleepy.
Elidibus lifts off his lap, shocking the hero with the lewd sight of his cock slipping out of him, his cum following behind it in a sticky, continuous flow that leaked down the ascian's thighs.
It was an unforgettable sight. At least until Elidibus lifts his robe to fall back over his front.
Natus groans with disappointment.
“This is a dream,” Elidibus reminds him. Clean and tidy again even though he didn't snap his fingers or wave his hand. “Or have you forgotten?”
Natus blinks, his eyes feeling heavy. “Maybe so. I'm still happy I got to see you.”
Elidibus looks down at him, something flickering in his expression. “Already the light returns.”
Natus smiles. “I expected as much.”
He blinks and Elidibus is no longer in his lap, but standing over his bed. His expression is hidden in shadow. His voice soft, blank of emotion.
“Were you a complete being such as I, this would hardly pose a threat to you. It would merely be a trifle. It seems even those of the Source are not yet strong enough to survive such things, despite our efforts. You are still too weak, too far from what you were meant to be. If it weren't for the meddling of Hydaelyn…”
Natus reaches for him. “I don't care about any of that. If this is a dream, let it be a dream. Stay with me tonight. Please?”
Elidibus stands quiet and still for a moment.
“...Even in a dream, I cannot.”
Natus closes his eyes. “I know what you're going to say before you say it. About duty again, yours and mine. I know. I've heard it.”
The hero sighs. “Just go.”
He never had any dreams where Elidibus stayed with him, anyhow.
….
Elidibus is gone again when he wakes.
The pain returned to him as if the ascian had never been there.
It had felt so real, but Natus wonders if maybe it had truly been a dream.
At least until he looks down and sees three scratch marks trailing down from his chest. Too thin and precise to be from his own nails.
Author’s Notes: I really won’t lie about this one. I wrote this after my brains had been scrambled by the intricacies of inventory management and AP figures while at work, then while waiting for my sleep meds to kick in. Which they did. Unexpectedly. So I kind of rushed this in an attempt to wake myself up this morning before I head off to my day job.
For as long as Berude had been a member of the Scions, it was rare to ever see Urianger out of his cowled hempen robe and usual goggles. For two years during the worst of the Primal threat, the defense of Eorzea against Garlemald, and the confrontation with Nabriales, not once had she seen him without his signature outfit. Even more recently, after the rescue of Raubahn, restoration of the Sultana, and Y’shtola’s rescue from the Lifestream, he had not deviated.
Yet once she felt the Ruin bolt dispel the Warrior of Darkness’ chains binding her and her friends and heard the Warriors of Darkness’ mysterious ally speak, she knew. He could hide behind new robes that accentuated his figure far too well for her liking and a mask, but she knew that deep, almost musical voice.
Her hands balled into fists that almost immediately relaxed when the mask was torn away. Her jaw dropped as he drew his scholar’s tome while caressing it fondly and convinced herself to chase away the traitorous thoughts brewing in the back of her mind. She wasn’t quite a widow, nor was it a new pain, but thinking such things about Urianger, of all people, suddenly felt traitorous to Haurchefant’s memory.
She was all too grateful when Alisaie spoke up with a plan to deal with the Warriors of Darkness.
–
Several years had passed since that inciting event and Berude found herself walking through the floral fields of the Fae Kingdom of Il Mheg on her way to Urianger’s home among the pixies. The ever-present light and the odd warmth it brought had her shed the heavy cropped vest and multiple belts and wraps that made her monk’s raiment.
“Glad you made it,” Thancred grumbled as he took in her state of undress. “Let’s go. He should be in.”
She frowned at this new taciturn Thancred, although she supposed it was better than drunkard Thancred. “Lead on.”
The interior was cozy enough, with several couches and armchairs scattered about. But they were nothing compared to the books and parchment scattered over every table and flat surface. It appeared her friend had at least been keeping himself busy, she reasoned as she looked at one of the sheets of parchment. The tiny scribbles were nearly enough to make her start to go cross-eyed when she heard it.
“ Unto a world weary of heroes, a hero wends her way…”
She hadn’t realized how much she had missed hearing his voice. It had only been a few weeks, just barely a moon really, since he had collapsed at the Rising Stones. But it was a relief all the same to hear his poetic words in that rich voice once again. He was here, he was alive, he was…
…wearing a black sleeveless robe decorated with chains, gemstones, and star charms with golden bangles and rings adorning his arms and hands. Around his neck was a thick golden gorget inlaid with garnets.
Her jaw dropped and all she could do was stare at him completely dumbfounded.
The conversation was almost a blur to Berude, so focused was she on this new look for Urianger. This was her friend, and he was showing an almost entirely new side of himself to her. One that beckoned trust and welcome.
The fact he now wielded a star globe and a thin holder for his own deck of sixty hadn’t escaped her notice either.
His smiles were much more freely given when she correctly identified the hand-drawn chart on the wall as one of the elemental forces of Eorzea. And once she had been caught up on the vision of her demise and what the true end goal was to save this reflection of their Star, he had pulled her aside as Thancred went to fetch Minfilia from her hastily-assigned chore.
“My friend,” he began, those intense golden eyes boring into her very soul, “ere I speak of the task at hand, there is a question I would pose to thee.” For a moment, she almost thought he was preening a little. “What thinkest thou of mine appearance?”
Berude bit her lip to keep the silly grin from her face, but she knew she was blushing from the way her cheeks burned. Perhaps a little revenge was in order for startling her with such a radical new appearance. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“Come now, ‘tis scarce the first time thou hast beheld these fair features.” He returned her jab with one of his own, and they eased back into the familiar.
“I’ve never known you to be quite so…vain? Is that the right word?” Was it just her, or did the tips of his ears start to turn pink? “But, I like this. The new robes and this new openness.” Out of all the Scions she had reencountered on the First, his were the changes she liked the most. Despite his initial preening and her complete lack of comprehension upon first glimpsing this new side to her friend, there was a certain trust in shedding his old clothing for this new garb that left him so exposed. It wasn’t born out of vanity, she realized, but out of the loss of trust he had experienced. “Astrology suits you as well, I think.”
“T’was thine own studies that inspired mine own.”
That surprised her, and she found herself preening a little under his gaze. Curse her traitorous tongue for tying itself in knots at this moment! Luckily, Thancred swooped in at just the right moment to ask about the task of appeasing the pixies.
"My mind in a haze, not wanting her to turn away, thinking of all the flowers I could give her. A field of flowers, if she would allow me."
If I had been a wiser or a better man, I would have seen that she was not mine. That she was not anyone's, that she belonged solely to herself and that we were lucky to be in her favor. That rather than chase the acclaim so deeply owed, rather than chasing the riches anyone would part with to give her, she chose to fight for our whims. To pursue our hopes, our dreams. That any day, she might be off to another land to perform the same miracle for someone else.
Instead, I found her on the Gates of Judgement. I grabbed her by the legs and swept her up onto my shoulders to march among her jubilant comrades in arms as we bellowed every song our hearts could recall.
The balance between my role as a knight had long been eclipsed by my role as a politician, now more clearly than ever. My days became planning for vast displays of peace and hope, each interrupted in some way. Emmanellain's poor choice in the face of skeptical citizens, a poisoning of our champion to keep her off the board as rebellion played out in the streets once more.
In light of doubt that we were out of touch as Lords, a well founded doubt, I thought of a way to prove to both highborn and lowborn that our heart still beat the same. In light of change and upheaval, we were still capable of giving our nation the strength and protection sworn to them. We could give that to them tenfold with the aid of our stalwart comrades across the continent. Someday, if they trusted in our vision, we could provide the support of allies from across the star.
Lucia was clear in her misgivings. I understood, I respected them. To create a spectacle of military strength was common in Garlemald, and I did not wish to remind her of the land she had fled. But to provide any measure of confidence to my people, I had to. Still, I must.
When I asked Lua to be the face of this display of strength, she closed her eyes and tilted her face to the floor. My heart sank into my gut. I had asked too much of someone who gave much and more. When she raised her head and slammed her fist into her palm, I howled with joy. "Together, we will give them a spectacle for the ages!" Her laughter chimed outside of my door afterwards, accompanying what I assumed was chiding from Thancred. I feared what the Scions thought of me. Opportunistic, petty even? Desperate? Desperate as I was, needy as I was, it pained me to think that any of them may have seen me that way.
--
"I shall speak plain. Ishgard has need of allies, and I would have you bolster our front lines in readiness for the coming battle against the dragons."
"This much I expected", he sighed. "Unlike our arrangement concerning the Keeper of the Lake, however, only you stand to benefit from our assistance in this matter. I fail to see why we should intervene in a conflict which concerns only Ishgard and Dravania."
"I make no attempt to defend my country's conduct. I only ask that you consider what would follow were Ishgard to fall," I stated as matter of factly as I could. The young Lord had learned the dance, he knew how to find my true intentions and sweat out my most candid thoughts. My unveiled intentions.
I continued, "Having razed our city to the ground, the Horde would have little cause to linger, and most would return to their lairs in Dravania.
Soon thereafter, the ruins of Coerthas would be buried in snow, and the land would become the sole province of beasts and beastmen.
...Until the Garleans' arrival, that is─for you may be certain that the Empire would not hesitate to claim Coerthas. They would not even have to draw steel."
The truth of the matter reached the young elezen's eyes. Mor Dhona, overwhelmed by the Hoarde and Garlean soldiers, scattering Doman refugees into the wind once again. A fallen Revenant's Toll, giving way to Garlean infringment into Gridania. Bloodshed spilling from the Twelveswood and onto the shores of the Maelstrom's domain and the sands of Thanalan.
As the vision filled his mind, Alphinaud slowly exhaled, "Very well─we will assist you in repelling the dragons. The roar of a great wyrm may have shaken the firmament, but we of Eorzea will not abandon our Ishgardian brothers to face the coming Horde alone."
--
Perhaps I had asked too much of her, yet she did not waver. Engulfed in the flames of the Bull of Ala Mhigo, wearing Ishgard's colors, she deftly cut through General Aldynn's heavy movements with her swift chakrams. The practiced, graceful moves of a dancer comfortable even in a paladin's greaves.
The leaders of Gridania, Thanalan, and Vylbrand greeted me to congratulate me of my nation's victory. Of her victory. They betrayed some hesitation that she would represent Ishgard, after all the effort she had taken on behalf of their own. With no intended offense to them with full risk of offending them regardless, I took some measure of pride in seeing her triumphant wearing my colors. My face and voice betrayed me once again, smug and gleeful. Raubahn's eyes found me, a knowing smirk. Seeing the contents of my heart resemble his own for another, reading the truth that I could not yet speak out loud.
If I had been a wiser or a better man, I would have seen that she was not mine. That she was not anyone's, that she belonged solely to herself and that we were lucky to be in her favor. That rather than chase the acclaim so deeply owed, rather than chasing the riches anyone would part with to give her, she chose to fight for our whims. To pursue our hopes, our dreams. That any day, she might be off to another land to perform the same miracle for someone else.
Instead, I found her on the Gates of Judgement. I grabbed her by the legs and swept her up onto my shoulders to march among her jubilant comrades in arms as we bellowed every song our hearts could recall.
--
I blushed at the feeling of her warmth against my neck as her small body shook with song. Her light voice blended into the deep bellows of victorious Temple Knights as we made our way through Foundation, our countrymen showering our party with flowers and flowing ale.
On arrival at the Forgotten Knight, I gently placed her down at the door. Her hair sticky, stinking with sweat and ale, pale snowflowers stuck between curls. My breath caught in my throat as I watched the back of her head disappear into the crowd. All night, she danced, we danced, they danced. Sweatier, loudly stepping to the beat in her ill fitting greaves, the smallest we could find for her. I noticed my own sweat, soaking into my collar as I danced faster and faster to keep up with her. Wondering how long I could keep up until I fell, dizzy and dazed from the ale and the emotion of the room.
My answer came at last as another, faster dancer swept Lua up in her arms and continued the jig. I brushed it off, retiring to a corner to reminisce with Lucia. Recalling other days before my responsibilities, before anyone thought it unusual for me to dance with a woman in a bar or to drink more than a single flagon for my composure.
--
The Warrior of Light wished to walk me home instead of our usual arrangement. Stumbling on her inconveniently sized boots, sipping a glass of water, she insisted. She told me that she loved our night walks. Once again, I found myself grateful for the dim lighting of the Forgotten Knight.
--
"I was a bit worried back there," she confessed
"Worried? What for?"
"When you fell, you didn't come back. I thought maybe you had hurt yourself until I saw you with Lucia."
"Yes, I was a somewhat out of my depth. It has been some time since I allowed myself to open up in that way. To forget myself for a moment."
"Forget yourself how?"
"My station, a leader of men, I suppose."
She laughed a horrible snorting sound, laughter erupting from me in response. That she could be so indelicate, so irreverent! She pushed her finger to her nose, with an accent common to these lands but not her own tongue, she scoffed "The Loooord Commaaaaandeer of the Hooooly See of Iiiiishgaaard could not be seen having fun. By the FUUUUUUURY!"
I couldn't help myself, my body doubled over in the wake of her impression. Her arm slid across my back to hold herself up as she continued bellowed riotous laughter, "A leeeeeader of MEN! In the company of drunkards in a BAR! Well, I NEVER!"
"I just-" I regained my breath, "I just couldn't disappoint. You clearly know what's expected of me." I chuckled into her ear. The moment was broken once our eyes met. Still dazed from our ale, but resuming full awareness of ourselves. Me, a leader of men and she a Warrior of Light. Her hand slid off of my back, brushing my own hand on its' way back to her side. We walked quietly, almost silently save for the small chuckle from us both as we recalled the moment before.
When we arrived at my estate, I threw her my own mockery. Thanking my hero, the vaunted Warrior of Light, savior of Eorzea, savior of Ishgard, devourer of ale for seeing me safely home. Her laughter could only be described as chiming, like metal in the breeze. Her hair blew in the chilled wind, one last snowflower claiming a long strand for itself. I plucked it from her, soaking in the sound of her chimes as I displayed it to her. My mind in a haze, not wanting her to turn away, thinking of all the flowers I could give her. A field of flowers, if she would allow me. Her face became stoic, body pulled into a sharp salute, broken immediately by more laughter as she failed to keep her face straight. She disappeared into the night, giggling on the dark path back to Fortemps Manor.
--
Note: I love thinking about Aymeric being awkward in love. Absolutely proper, horrified but intrigued by the wildness that a crush could bring out of him.
The Alliance has made their decision. What fate awaits at The Steps of Faith?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The desert air reeked of sweat and unwashed bodies and the grittiness of the everpresent sand never left her wanting for an eye irritant. That same sand crunched under her boots as she pushed through the throng of the Sapphire Avenue Exchange, ignoring the cries of the merchants hawking their wares as she made her way to the Chamber of Rule. Though Ul’dah was never her favorite city to visit, Ishgard’s plight had seemingly struck a chord with the alliance leaders and they had called an assembly in the Fragrant Chamber. Naturally, Alphinaud saw fit to attend and had requested her presence as well. Despite her time being better spent preparing for the upcoming battle, she couldn’t deny her attendance would only aid their plea for help. Trudging up the steps carpeted in the lushest of ink and gold, she greeted her young friend and was ushered inside by Bartholomew, the chamber’s ever present guardian.
Sat in a chair too large for even her Elezen frame,the summoner listened to the alliance bicker and bemoan the current state of their respective cities. The alliance could spare no more than a handful of troops, citing their own needs taking precedence. Raubahn proposed hiring the free companies to assist in the fight, which, of course, incensed Alphinaud. “I beg your pardon!? You would entrust the survival of Ishgard to sellswords !? Crises like these are the very reason why this alliance was formed! It is our duty to aid our fellow man!”
“My duty is to my country and my people,” Merlwyb rebuked. “If you expect us to place the welfare of a foreign power above our own, you’re going to be sorely disappointed. Lest you doubt, Limsa comes first, then the Alliance, and finally–circumstances permitting–Ishgard and the rest. If you cannot understand so simple a concept, then you have no place at this table.”
“Forgive me, Admiral. I was…careless in my choice of words.” Alphinaud replied.
“I suggest you assemble a party of elite adventurers, assuming you haven’t already,” Raubahn interjected. “Your fellows served us well during Operation Archon. I daresay they will do so again.”
“It’s already been done,” Celaena replied. “I’ve contacted several of my fellow adventurers and Tataru has let the Adventurer’s Guild in Mor Dhona know assistance is required to those who are willing.”
With the proposal of a redistribution of forces in Ul’dah to send a larger number to Ishgard, accompanied by a halfhearted response from the Sultana, the meeting was adjourned and the summoner met her friend outside the chamber. “Once again, I owe you an apology. It seems you have been conscripted into leading a contingent of adventurers on yet another mission of inestimable danger. …But I fear we have been left with little alternative. We cannot well abandon Lord Haurchefant and Ser Aymeric to their fate. We must abide by the council’s decisions–shortsighted as it is–and strive to fill our roles as Eorzea’s guardians.”
“On the bright side, at least the Alliance is sending what they can, however paltry that may be. It’s better than an outright refusal.”
“Right you are,” he replied, pressing his finger to his ear to answer his linkpearl. “...Then the assault has begun? We have but this moment concluded our audience with the alliance leaders. Move our forces into position. Your unit will join House Durendaire at the Steel Vigil. Man the cannons alongside the knights, and thin the Dravanian horde ere they descend upon Ishgard. I will join you as soon as I am able.” Ending the call, Alphinaud turned to the summoner and said, “Celaena–I would have you and your adventurer allies bolster the defenses as the Steps of Faith. Report first to Ser Marcelain at the Gates of Judgement, and he will direct you to where you are needed most. May the gods grant us victory!”
—------
Snow bit through her jacket and frigid air whipped through her purple locks as her chocobo flew through the Central Highlands and back to the Gates of Judgement. The skirmishes she had assisted with had laid both the House Knights and her fellow adventurers to waste. “ Decimated , you say? Dravanian devils! Damn their scaly hides!” Marcelain did not take the news well. “Hold fast to your grief and fury, my lady. We will avenge the deaths of your fellows in the battle to come!”
“Indeed we shall,” She stated simply.
“Now, ere you commit yourself to the siege, you should know what it is you are tasked with defending. Beyond the Gates of Judgement lie the Steps of Faith–a great bridge of stone that leads directly to the city of Ishgard. More than simply a means to cross the Sea of Clouds, the bridge serves as a foundation for the arcane wards that form the barrier we call Daniffen’s Collar. Alas, in dispelling the barrier’s outermost layer, that thrice-damned witch Iceheart stripped the bridge of its protection, and thus are the dragons now able to land unhindered upon the Steps of Faith. Should the Dravanians succeed in destroying the remainder of the wards, the winged devils will be free to swarm within the city itself. Needless to say, we cannot suffer that to happen. It shall be our task as defenders to prevent any harm from coming to those parts of the bridge wherein the wards are sealed. All now rests on us, adventurer. Lead your comrades out onto the Steps of Faith and prepare to meet the Horde. …May the Fury guide your blades!” Marcelain said enthusiastically.
Green eyes peered through the heavy iron gates and onto the span of stone stretching between it and the city proper. They’d be the first non-Ishgardians to set foot on it in many years. Though she would have preferred the reason being to visit the city, there wouldn’t be a city left to visit if they didn’t hold this bridge. Turning to her group of adventurers, she said, “Is everyone ready?” Nods and murmur of agreements greeted her in return. “Good. I know I’m technically in charge of this unit, but we will be supporting the Temple Knights. Their knowledge of the enemy far exceeds my own, so if they tell you to do something, you to do it. If this bridge falls, Ishgard falls. Understood? Ser Marcelain,” she said, looking at the guard. “Raise the gates please. We’re ready.
Protesting with a heavy, metallic whine, the Gates of Judgement rose to give passage to the stone bridge beyond. As the group set forward, the grinding was drowned out by an ear splitting cry and the flap of huge, leathery wings. All eyes flicked skyward and beheld the giant beast hovering over the bridge. “That’s a really big dragon…” One of the adventurers said.
“And he’s brought friends.” Another added.
“The dragons don’t have cannons. We do,” Celaena replied. “Be on your guard and do take care not to get under that thing’s foot. Forward!”
Summoning Garuda, she led the charge at the massive dragon. Though she didn’t spot Ser Aymeric in the fray, she was pleased to see Lucia among the throng. “They seek to swarm the healers! Focus your attacks on the dragonflies!” The second commander bellowed.
“You heard the woman! Adventurers, guard the healers!”
“On it!”
Satisfied the chirurgeons were protected well enough, Celaena charged forward before her path was impeded by a stocky dragon snapping at a temple knight who had fallen and lost his weapon. “Oh no you don’t…” She muttered under her breath, picking up a lance from a fallen knight. Running up the back of the beast, she angled the weapon downward and plunged it into the base of its skull. Emitting a roar of agony, the dragon feebly attempted to shake her from his back before it slumped to the ground, dead. “Can you stand?” She asked the knight.
“I…yes,” He stammered.
“Good. Let’s kill this thing and go home,” she replied with a smile before taking off towards the front of the dragon.
“Slings and arrows shall avail us little against the foe. Ready the cannons!” Lucia yelled.
Celaena needed no further instructions as she flung herself behind the nearest Bertha. Swiveling the cannon, she aimed for the massive dragon’s head and pulled the release. She was off her mark, but did manage to strike it in the neck. Other rounds followed suit and though the dragon roared in anguish, it kept moving forward.
And move forward it did, barreling through two of the magical wards and working closer to the city. The dragon had slowed considerably thanks to its many injuries, but if it were to break through the final barrier, Ishgard would be done for. Commanding her Ifrit to engulf the beast in an inferno, Celaena decided she’d had enough. Dashing in front of the dragon, she held her grimoire aloft and began the incantation. “Stars above, heed my call,” she began, electric blue aether crackling around her. “Rend this foe asunder and bring about his fall!” The sky above changed from icy blue to orange as several flaming meteors rained down upon Vishap and what remained of his horde. When the dust had settled, she was greeted by cheers and whoops of joy “Shout your triumph to the heavens, my friends! The day belongs to Ishgard–and her blessed defenders!” Lucia cried.
High atop the balustrade, Estinien looked down at Eorzea’s champion and smirked. He’d seen her antics with the lance and would have to ask her about it whenever they next met. As if sensing his gaze, she looked up and found him standing there. “One of Nidhogg’s greatest champions…slain. The Horde will not soon recover from this blow,” he said to himself. But what of you, Nidhogg? Why did you not join your minions and make of this battle a slaughter? Have you grown so fond of the stench of your lair? Mayhap you prefer to have your allies fight your battles for you… You have a girl to do your bidding now, do you not? No matter. I shall slay Iceheart, and all the rest… But I yearn to spill the blood of a great wyrm, Nidhogg, and only your death will sate my lance.”
Panting after releasing that explosive burst of aether, Celaena watched the dragoon jump away and began the long, cold walk back to the Gates of Judgement. Alphinaud would no doubt be chomping at the bit to hear her account of what happened. A shocked Ser Marcelain greeted her at the gate. “By the Fury... You have driven the Horde from the Steps of Faith! You! A stranger to our land! I confess, I did not think you capable of such a feat… Yet you yielded not an ilm in the face of dragons that would turn my brother knights' blood to ice. The Fury Herself must walk at your side!”
“I couldn’t have done so without all the help from the Temple Knights and everyone else,” she replied.
“Celaena!” Alphinaud interrupted. “The dragons are routed! Lest you wonder, the fighting at the Steel Vigil was also fierce, but my Crystal Braves were not found wanting!”
“I’m happy to hear that,” she replied. “The dragon that landed on the Steps was massive; no doubt one of Nidhogg’s greatest fighters. With it slain, the Horde should hopefully have been dealt a significant blow.”
“Commander Leveilleur, Celaena... True to your word, you arrived to aid us in our hour of need. On behalf of the Holy See and the people of Ishgard, I offer you my humble thanks.” Aymeric said, bowing. “Though I would stay and lavish you with well-deserved praise, I fear I must away to oversee the aftermath of the siege. Not all the dragons are fled, and there are yet wounded to be carried from the field. Pray let us meet anon that I might express my thanks with the proper courtesy.”
Celaena beamed at him. If he had partaken in the fighting, he looked none the worse for wear. “I’ll hold you to that, Lord Commander.”
Returning her smile, he turned and headed back to the bridge. “I too would offer my thanks, Celaena,” Alphinaud said. “Through your deeds, we have achieved a victory of singular importance. With the Dravanian Horde thus weakened and scattered, the threat to Ishgard has been greatly diminished. And, mayhap equally significant, the Holy See must now recognize the necessity of cooperation with foreign powers. Long have they barred their gates against the outside world, but I am confident that the day will soon come when Ishgard proclaims itself a member of the Eorzean Alliance once more. Much have we sacrificed in our struggles against dragons and primals, the Ascians and the Empire. But, step by unfaltering step, we march ever nearer to our goal. And, as ever, the journey is made with you in the van. The victory you have won this day gives us greater hope for the morrow. 'Tis a hope that shall sustain us in the days to come, and bear us past the many evils that yet seek to hinder our progress. Yes, we have done well, my friend, and I, for one, would take a moment to savor the enormity of our achievement! ...The demands of duty, however, allow me little time for levity. I must accompany Captain Ilberd back to Ul'dah, and reassign those Braves whose squads suffered heavy losses. You, my friend, have earned a rest at the Rising Stones. Pray return to Revenant's Toll, and share your tale with Minfilia in person.
“That sounds like a wonderful idea. I’ll see you soon, Alphinaud.” Flicking her eyes towards Camp Dragonhead, she decided against visiting the ever positive commander. Though she would have loved to regale him with what happened on the Steps, it would have to wait, for her bed at the Rising Stones was calling to her.
Notes:
Sorry for the long hiatus. Between replaying the entire MSQ and Endwalker absolutely wrecking me, Emet-Selch has taken up residency in my brain and refuses to leave, so there may be some content featuring him in the future. Fear not though, I will see this through to the end. As always, comments/kudos are greatly appreciated. Enjoy!
I actually meant that as prompts for me when I’m in the mood for that.
So just enjoy some of my WoL with her new lover.
She once had said it was quite difficult to think of him as an enemy she heard his full plea.
And then she lets him tease her in the Umbilicus. A sash to bind her hands and keep her standing, blindfold to keep her guessing where he’ll play next. G’raha’s ears twitch with glee when she loses words.
She gets louder when he uses his right hand. The crystal is something unique to him. He slides that hand along her neck and shoulders and she chokes in surprise. Tickle her sides, and he hears “Raha” from her lips.
G’raha presses against her back, wraps his hands around her. Right hand cupping her breast. His fingers curl around her slowly.
“Tease,” Lin says. “I teach you my weaknesses and you use it to–” Her voice cuts out.
He nibbles at her ear, fangs pressing against the end.
She inhales and he enjoys her babble. “Rahahagodsyesplease.”
“Already at my mercy, love,” he whispers. “And I have been so very conservative so far.”
“Why do you think I call you a tease? How long do you plan to keep me like this? You don’t even need to stay behind me. I can’t see you.”
His left hand slides along her spine as he takes a step back. “You needn’t rush me, Lin. Call me a tease again, and I’ll add five minutes to this game. I can play all night.”
He grabs her tail by the base. Scratches around it with his crystal hand.
Lin shakes. “GodsIwannasayitpleasepleasepleaseRahaplease.”
Soon, perhaps, he’ll start in earnest. For now, he’ll enjoy the composed woman he loves call for more.
